The First Meeting of Aragorn and Harry
by Nimbus Llewelyn
Summary: In which there is violence, comedy and other delights. Prequel to The Wizard In The Shadows, though it isn't obligatory reading as both stand alone well, and set about 4 years before the War of the Ring. I own nothing save the idea. Please Read and Review


_**The First Meeting of King Elessar I Telcontar (then known as Aragorn) and Lord Moristar Morinehtar (then known as Harry Potter) in early Autumn T.A. 3014.**_

_**The Revised Red Book of the Westmarch**_

**A/N : I said I was planning to make this into a series. The title is in a slightly chronicle like format because I figured that such an incident would be recorded. Never fear, the actual story is normal.**

**This is the story of how Harry met Aragorn, having gone to Middle Earth to rest after the second Wizarding War on the well-meant advice of Dumbledore's portrait. This serves as a prequel to The Wizard in the Shadows, and it is helpful, but by no means necessary to have read first.**

**As for Harry's name, it means (in the elvish Sindarin): The Lord Black Wizard Darkness Slayer. I know. **_**Badass**_**. I will freely admit that the Morinehtar is pinched from one of the alternate names for Alatar, one of the Blue Wizards, but since they don't turn up, I think it is fair to appropriate it.**

**A warning beforehand, Aragorn speaks/thinks words that change meaning in context. So please, don't start giggling when he uses the word breast.**

**My thanks to OldStoneface who suggested a few areas in need of polishing, then gave an in depth critique.**

Harry froze, this generally being the effect that a sword to the throat has. Rest and Recuperation my arse. _Thanks Dumbledore_, _thank you _so_ much_, he thought. What the old wizard was planning he didn't know, but he suspected he was going to find out soon enough.

"What are you?" Was the cold question that jolted him back to reality.

"A wizard." Harry said, considering honesty to be the best policy when there was a very sharp sword at his throat. This answer caused the sword press harder against him, drawing blood.

"I only know of 3 living wizards, none of whom are young and dressed in black. Fell sorcerers that seek to enslave and manipulate houseless spirits I have met and slain. How do I know you are not one of those? You dress in much the same fashion as they do." Wonderful, a non-magical world where literally everyone is as paranoid as Moody before lunchtime and draws steel at the sight of robes. Everything is going swimmingly so far.

"Would a 'fell sorcerer' not have turned and tried to kill you? How do you know that I'm not just lost and unfortunately dressed?"

"In my long experience, things that appear out of thin air rarely do anything but cause trouble. My line of work has made me somewhat paranoid." The unseen man said evenly.

"What would it take to prove my good intentions? And what do you do?" Harry asked wearily. He really hadn't expected this, but he really shouldn't have been.

"Telling me the truth would be a good start. I am a Dunedain Ranger, and I hunt and slay evil wherever I find it, protecting the peoples of the North." The swordsman replied. Harry restrained with some difficulty the urge to say 'Moody, is that you?' At best the swordsman would be puzzled, at worst he would be cut again or receive a bellow of 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!'

And he was officially being held at sword point by the local equivalent of the Auror's, which explained the paranoia. He slipped his wand down his sleeve, fired a weak variant of the leg locker curse and then suddenly elbowed the man in the thigh, ducking and casting a silent '_Levicorpus_' on him. Then he stood up, brushing the leaves from his robes and casually disarming the swordsman who had assumed a defensive stance insofar as this is possible whilst hanging upside down by one's ankle. With a quick '_Incarcerus', _the man -who was maybe in his late 30's or early 40's with predominantly dark hair and goatee beard, both streaked very lightly with the odd silver hair- was thoroughly incapacitated.

"I think that is ample proof of what I am, and I think the fact that I haven't taken the opportunity to kill you, which if I were a 'fell sorcerer', I would have done, can show my good intentions." Harry said smoothly.

"I am still somewhat sceptical. Do not be offended, but it is not the first time that one who has seemed fair and clever has proven to be foul." The man said, his facing darkening. Though, Harry mused, that could just be the blood running to his head. "Indeed, the last time such a thing happened, it provided the basis for thousands of horrible deaths and troubles that have lasted millennia."

Harry cocked his head, thinking for a moment, then said, "Please relax. If that is actually physically possible in your situation, that is. I am going to try something. My intention isn't to hurt you, but this spell is something I've never tried before." Harry dropped the Levicorpus, causing the man to land with a thud, then vanished the ropes and reached down and pulled him up so they stood face to face, touching the man's temple with his wand. "_Legilimens_."

Harry found himself diving into the man's memories, but he purposefully left the door to his mind open so the man could see his. And, Harry thought, it was incredibly stupid. He opened his mind. If the man had some hidden magic and ill intentions, he could run riot. All his past - save the very personal stuff which was behind the psychic equivalent of a bank vault door, while Harry noted that the man had done something similar - was laid bare. He saw happiness, tragedy, bravery, courage, fear, bitterness, lack of self-worth, heroism, a fleeting sense of a great destiny, and sacrifice. He saw three wizards, each wearing different colours, and the sort of fell sorcerers the man had believed him to be, then something about Rings. Most of all, however, he saw purest love, and the most beautiful woman, wisdom and life in her eyes, that he had ever seen, Ginny aside. And he saw a name, the true one of an absolutely ludicrous amount all acquired and worn for a while like clothes, then discarded. Aragorn, son of Arathorn and Gilraen.

Aragorn had been having a quiet evening. No orcs or other dark creatures were noticeably in the area, and he had been looking forward to having a beer at The Prancing Pony. When a young man, having apparently only recently reached his majority, had appeared right in front of his eyes, he had drawn his sword and held him at blade point. His constant sense of paranoia had sounded the alarm when the man had claimed to be a wizard, which in Aragorn's eyes, unless one was an elf or an Istari, equalled some spawn of Mordor or Angmar. He had been very surprised when he had found himself lifted off his feet, disarmed and tied up in a matter of moments. Almost as surprising was that his foe wished him no obvious ill and was willing to speak fairly.

For his part, when he entered the thoroughly disorientating experience of seeing another's mind, saw images, what a modern human would recognise as photographs, an orphaned child, cruel treatment at the hands of those who should wish nothing other than kindness, bravery, stoicism, kindness, pain, oh so much pain felt so young, fear, despair, defiance, unbending destiny, prophecies spoken and followed, anger and raw bravery, shown by a roaring lion and finally, hard earned and bittersweet victory. He saw a world of hundreds, thousands, millions of wizards, of varying abilities, few of which approaching Radagast, Gandalf or Saruman in power, but all with skill of their own. For some reason, he also saw, or rather heard, a gruff voice bark: "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

He saw love, of different kinds, a beautiful red haired woman who could only be the wizard's deceased mother. Somehow he recognised the same green eyes and a kind smile. He saw a tall man with some strange glass devices that appeared to be designed to aid vision on his face, one's that his captor shared, and who grinned and had the same features as his opponent, likely making him his father. Another man, the same age and likely some father figure to the wizard, thinner and slightly haunted looking, with looks that were still well favoured despite obvious hardship, and a mischievous smile waiting to break free.

He saw two other people, both the same age as the one who looked into, friends and close ones, a red-headed, freckled and tall young man, and a shorter and formidable looking woman with curly brown hair. Then he saw a lovely young woman, the fires of passion in breast, clearly related to the red-headed young man, and a heart that belonged, and always had, to the man who was no doubt looking through his memories as well. The name that appeared out of the depths of his wizardly opponents mind was Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter.

With a synchronised gasp, both disengaged simultaneously. He handed Aragorn his dropped sword once the older man appeared to have regained his bearings.

"I am never doing that again. If I meet anyone, I'll just say you vouched for me." Harry said flatly, regaining his composure.

Aragorn chuckled. This was turning into a most unusual night. "Indeed, and when they ask who will vouch for your good character, you can point to an ordinary scruffy Ranger who is referred to as Strider and whose appearance terrifies half the local people and inspires hostility in the other half."

"I'm willing to bet that ordinary scruffy Rangers do not regularly associate with well dressed women more beautiful than I had believed possible." Harry said mischievously.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. If he had seen Harry's love, than it made slightly irritating sense that the other had seen his.

"Nor do they have the sense of destiny I associate with prophecies and dark lords." Harry added, more warily this time. From what Aragorn had seen, Harry had recently fought a war, and appeared to be most reluctant to fight in one not of his own making, something Aragorn could well understand. War was terrible enough with a just cause to fight it. War without did not bear thinking about.

Before Harry could say anything more, Aragorn had tensed and was scanning his surroundings.

"Do you have a spell to detect what is around us?" He asked quietly.

'_Homenum Revelio_' Harry nodded, casting the spell in a hushed tone of voice. Apparently the result was bad as Harry blanched and stepped closer to Aragorn. "There are 25 creatures around us. My spell didn't register them as men, though."

"Orcs. Or something similar." Aragorn replied, cursing softly. "I thought so, but hoped I was wrong."

"Orcs?"

"Monsters. Warped creatures that know nothing but evil. Any attempt to find good in them has failed miserably. Do not hesitate to kill. I'll give a better explanation when we aren't in mortal peril." Aragorn said shortly. Harry blanched. He had come here to avoid fighting, let alone killing. And he had landed right next to someone with a touch of destiny about them. Dumbledore had definitely been planning something.

"Any particular information I should know?"

"They hate sunlight, not that that is of much use at the moment, and are slightly faster than ordinary humans and they will kill you and eat you if you get the chance. If you're lucky, they'll do it in that order." Aragorn replied, and was astounded when Harry gave him a grin disturbingly full of teeth and said, "I used to know people like that."

At that point the Orc's attacked, and any worries Aragorn had about Harry's combat capability were soon dispelled by the wizard's impressive reflexes, better than any he had seen short of an elf, and he fired off spells that did many things, beams of red light bringing down orcs instantly, blasts of force keeping them back. Aragorn meanwhile leapt forward, using his superior mass and the surprise of the Orc's to through them off guard, beheading one, gutting another, parrying a couple of times before lunging . He turned and saw an Orc sneaking up behind Harry, knife out, going for a quick kill.

"Harry! 'Ware! Behind you!" He called, re engaging with a particularly persistent Orc. Harry twisted, set the Orc on fire, and then let out a bellow of: _LUMOS SOLEM!_, and the fight was over. When Aragorn blinked the spots out of his vision, he saw host of grilled and surprised orcs. Except, it seemed, for one that had found sufficient cover, which fired an arrow at Harry with a defiant screech. As the arrow thudded into the wizard's left arm, eliciting a cry of pain and shock from him, Aragorn drew his own bow, and replied with a single arrow, killing the creature immediately. After checking their surroundings, he went to examine the moaning wizard. The wound looked to be more painful than deadly, and the arrow head wasn't poisoned.

"Come on. I'll take you into the town and see to your wound. Tomorrow, your injury willing, we will move on to the home of my foster father, Lord Elrond."

"This town, Bree isn't it?" Harry asked, slightly dazed, having cast a numbing charm on the wound and Aragorn nodded as he stemmed the steady blood flow.

"Yes."

"Good beer?"

Aragorn laughed. "Indeed, the best outside Rohan or the Shire."

Harry looked quizzically at him. "You're going to have to explain this world to me. I only got the very, very basics before I came here."

"And you are going to have to explain your world, and your presence here."

"Beer first, explanation later."

"Healing first, Beer next, explanation at the same time." Aragorn corrected firmly, in full healer mode.

Harry smirked. Never had he met anyone who reminded him more of Molly Weasley in a motherly mood. Considering said person was an experienced and deadly warrior, borne out by the efficiently dispatched Orc creatures, this comparison had even more value. He was also apparently some sort of military doctor, which probably explained it.

He mock scowled. "The beer had better be good."

Aragorn found a grin tugging the corners of his mouth. Few made him smile so in these dark days. "So had the explanation." He retorted, as they began to make their way down to the small town.

And so, to mangle a quote, began a beautiful friendship. They bullied their way past the suspicious gate keeper by dint of Aragorn talking politely and waggling Harry's arrow pierced left arm for emphasis, while Harry resisted the urge to blast the gates down. Afterwards they took to the Inn, where Aragorn paid for two rooms, or tried to, before Harry summoned his purse from his extended pack, and ignoring the incredulous stares of the clientele, counted out 4 solid gold Galleons and 10 silver sickles. With a glance at the surprised Aragorn to see if the accounting was correct, which it was for a meal and one room with two single beds for the night. Another Galleon bought a round for everyone in the Inn, which earned a hearty, if somewhat drunken cheer while Aragorn set about removing the arrow in Harry's arm.

The next day, fed and rested, they travelled on to Rivendell by foot as all the horses had been bought and another string would not come for a month - Harry muttering about walking and insufferable striding Dunedain, and Aragorn muttering about whining wizards who should walk more often - where they were welcomed a fortnight later by Lord Elrond and Gandalf. But that, as they say, is another story.

**Hope you liked it! Please click the button below and review as reward for my endeavours.**


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